Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Actually, that is not entirely true. I'll be leaving not on a jet plane but in a V6 engine that has the gumption and vigor of a V2. Assuming there is such a thing as a V2, its name would certainly be Cheryl P. Troll-Cruiser. Let me get straight to the point here--- I am leaving my little condo. *sigh*

You know, it's strange where life will take you if you let it.

Life has me moving to a very, very far away place called Union, West Virginia. I feel comfortable putting that information online for a number of reasons:

1) My readers consist mainly of family, friends and possibly a few lovers. Not likely you say? Kill joys!

2) Union is so remote and unchartered that I doubt that an ax-murderer would be able to find me anyway. Seriously, in trying to map the coordinates of my new digs, Google Earth was like "Woh. Where are my glasses? Please hold."

3) I underestimate the investigative prowess of said ax murderer.

I just got a chill. Hold me.

I won't tell a lie, I'm a wee bit sad to be leaving. The walls have been lovingly painted and then re-painted, the location is convenient for work and, well, it's mine and I've enjoyed living here. Arriving home after a long day of work, you might hear me bellow "hello house!" as I enter through the front door. Don't be alarmed. You should be used to me personifying inanimate objects by now. It's what I do.

This weekend I'll be saying adieu to my little condo of dreams...

Oh, silly me. That is an old picture. Here's *my condo...

Like the pillows? I sure do.

Whatever mixed blessing this move represents, where I am moving to, dear reader, is pretty awesome. I am looking forward to sharing with you some of the sights from my new residence which just happens to be a slice of scenic glory.

Thursday, April 21, 2011

And here we have two random snapshots from a day in the life of your humble corespondent, BB...

The first is of a familiar face around these parts. We are not sure how it happened but Clyde got his whipper caught in a door or stepped on. Since I have ESCP (Extrasensory Canine Perception) I knew something was awry. Well, anyone with half a brain knew what was up: His tail was bent funny and tucked under his belly. Since I don't actually work while I am at work (shhhhhh), I had plenty of time to drive Clyde to the vet. Normally placid and calm, this dog was singing a sad tune in the back of my car.

Look at the face in this picture and tell me that your heart did not just bleed out right on your keyboard?

Oh, and "PAY NO ATTENTION TO THAT MAN BEHIND THE CURTAIN OR THOSE BAGS OF TRASH ON THE SEAT OF MY CAR. I AM THE GREAT AND POWERFUL OZ..."

Here he waits anxiously by the door. The doctor is on her way. Since he was all parts unruly in the waiting area, I was curious if he was going to be the good boy. He was. After being prescribed some canine percocet, Clyde was back to his normal carcass loving self by close of business that day.

Below is a photo taken from my rusty iPhone. I apologize for the picture resolution. Me and a dear friend scored some tickets to the Mrs. America Pageant at The Greenbrier hosted by the lovely, ever gracious and never aging Florence Henderson. Going to one of these events makes you realize just how sub-par your looks are. Seriously. A few of the contestants had children my age and thighs that could crack walnuts. But, oh to see the beautiful dresses, bedazzled costumes, updo's and make-up! And who does not love that awkward and robotic Q & A session hmmm? The potential for snarky commentary was almost overpowering.

Friday, April 15, 2011

I would like to discuss with you my thoughts on a new show on TLC called Extreme Couponing. The shows premise is this: You love to coupon? And you're crazy? Write to TLC and we will put you on the air! Now, to be fair, I've only watched two episodes thus far but I'm pretty sure the story line stays consistent...

Meet Sally. Sally clearly has OCD but is not medicated because, well, what's wrong with being obsessively thrifty these days? It's a bad economy you know. And since couponing is considered a noble pursuit, who on earth is going to throw a wet blanket on that penny-pinching pony ride into discount hell?

Why else do you even come here? Honestly.

Read on.

See Sally get up at 3:30 am to ambush the paper boy at the end of her driveway. She's armed.

See Sally run into the house dragging paper boy's bloody satchel behind her.

See Sally spend 6 hours in her dank basement with a pair of scissors, a swinging light bulb suspended from the ceiling and stacks of shiny coupon inserts. She is breathing heavy.

See Sally race her Chrysler Town and Country minivan across town and pull into Kroger on two wheels. Canned peaches are on sale. She will buy every last can on the shelf (42 to be exact) simply because...

the. coupons. tell. her. she. can.

See Sally's marriage disintegrate and CPS make a house call.

A few of the husbands on the show have the "deer caught in the headlight'' look about them. Sure, they're saving a few thousand dollars a year but if polled in secret, my guess is that they hate their lives and wish for death. Their whole world it seems is cataloged, controlled and shelved. One scene had a mother proudly showcasing a drawer stocked with rows of various household cleaner, evenly spaced and categorized by size. This particular drawer was found under her young sons bunk bed. You know, that drawer. The one normally filled with books about insects, GI Joes, silly bands, dirty tube socks and rubber snakes. Her bedside bargain buys had no choice but to bleed over from brimming pantries, closets and basements.

What else do we call that but a maladaptive obsession? Cuponing's spend-thrift underpinnings make it a culturally acceptable phenom yet, given its extreme nature, there's a slight element of crazy to it.

Let me bring it home for you: You see a carnie working in the circus. They appear to be having all kinds of fun operating that Tilt-A-Whirl or rickety ferris wheel or making balloon animals for excited little children. Why then won't you concede that you too should become a carnie? Because, reader, deep down you know it's not for you. You'll never be a carnie. You're too busy blowing your money on chai lattes at Starbucks and TJ Maxx handbags to consider it an option. And that's okay because carnies are weird. But let's say you just checked your online bank account and now you are thinking that being a carnie wouldn't be so bad after all. In fact, in order to make next months rent and keep the lights flickering, you are going to need to channel a lot more carnie and a lot less Kohl's. Know what I am saying? No? Okay.

Thursday, April 7, 2011

This dog. He tickles me. Not literally of course as he lacks opposable thumbs. But he does sing to my soul much like Michael Buble' who crooned the ballad, "I just haven't met you yet" at his own wedding last weekend. The title of the song is fortuitous as he has not, in fact, met me yet. I concur, Michael. Our squirrelly love ship has not yet sailed. But it will, oh it will. Glory day, it will.

Dear reader, this has been a fantasy of mine for some time... Michael singing to me in a dimly lit room, playing a piano, on stage, crooning in my ear... "that's why I'm singing this song foooor youuuuuuuuu. Wohhh-oooh dooby doooo."

Thank you for listening. It is a lonely world I live in.

At any rate, here's Clyde at the front office window looking smart. In reality, he was scouring the area for any sign of his Master's return which is cause for a lot of consternation throughout his day.

This picture demands a caption, but I want my clever friends to conjure up one. If you are reading this, you are a clever friend so get ta thinking!

Whoever submits the winning caption (or, as I've learned, anything at all) will get an official kudos from me and an all expenses paid, all inclusive trip to Alderson, West Virginia.